


Family Dinner

by 222Ravens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel pre-slash, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Thanksgiving Dinner, brief mention of Samelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/222Ravens/pseuds/222Ravens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up to find Cas trying to make Thanksgiving dinner, and pitches in to help. They talk, and both figure some stuff out, and end up having a better day than either of them was necessarily expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was meant to be really short, like a few hundred words or so. Oops.  
> I don't even celebrate Thanksgiving in November, (I'm Canadian) but hey, I was only just caught up on Supernatural episodes in October, so I think you'll probably forgive me.  
> Rated Teen only for mild language, by the way.  
> Un-beta'd.

They are back at Rufus' cabin, crashed for the night.. Sam is asleep on the couch, and Dean passed out on the camp bed. They'd stayed up all night driving there after travelling to the end of nowhere and back pursuing a dead end on the tablets.

 

As a result, it was actually pretty late in the afternoon when he finally woke up. He drifted back into consciousness after a muffled crash of and a smell in the air that Sam couldn't quite place.

 

Of course, his instincts had to kick in at that point, trying to wake him up as quickly as was reasonably possible. Which meant half-falling off the couch, cursing as his legs got tangled in a blanket, and standing up too abruptly. The room spun a little bit. The disorientation of that was only further amplified by what he sees nextt, looking into the sad excuse for a kitchen that the cabin had.

 

The counters had been cleared off of a lot of the crap that was on them, and maybe even _cleaned_ , which was enough of a shock as it was. In place of the dirt and random items were a number of half-empty shopping bags, mixing bowls, scattered ingredients, a cutting board, three open recipe books, and a pot-holder that Sam didn't recognize.

 

On the stove, every burner was occupied with a pot of something or another, and the oven appears to be on, as well. And the smell. _Oh_ , the smell. Now that he's actually awake, he can tell that it is a seriously amazingly combination that consists mostly of cranberry, a caramel sugar smell that's probably baking yams, and roasting meat, and holy…. Was that a pumpkin pie and carrot cake on the counter? He's reasonably sure it is. Actual _cake,_ for once. 

 

There's the sound of the oven door closing, and a head pops up from behind the little kitchen island. The head is followed by a torso and a hand holding what looks suspiciously like a turkey baster.

 

"Sam! Hello. Did I wake you? I was trying to let you and Dean sleep." The face is scrunched up into a worried frown, and Sam can't help but laugh.

 

Because yes, an genuine Angel of the Lord _is_ standing in the kitchen of a deceased Jewish alcoholic, sans trench coat, wearing a suit, backwards tie, and a bright red apron emblazoned with the words ' _Have You Hugged A Chef Today?_ '. And he's making Thanksgiving dinner. That is weird even by Sam's very liberal standard of weird. The kind of standard that includes the existences of murderous demonic spirit clowns.

 

"Cas, where'd you get all this stuff?" Is the first thing that pops out of his mouth, because yeah, he definitely hasn't seen half of the stuff being used before, and that's not even counting the ingredients.

 

Cas actually looks embarrassed. "I went to a cooking store. The clerk was very helpful when I explained I was making Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. The apron especially, I think, was a good suggestion."

 

Sam nods furiously, trying to avoid grinning. "Uh, yeah, nice apron... Did you use one of the credit cards?"

 

"Yes. And at the… The grocery store. That was a trifle more confusing, but I believe I found everything I needed."

 

"Uh… Wow. So, you made all of this?" Sam asks, even though it's a really stupid question, because who else would have? Still, Sam's trying to wrap his head around it. 

 

Turning back to the stove to stir one of the pots, Cas nods sombrely. "Yes. Is it…. Was this wrong of me to do so? I had read it was traditional to prepare of feast of this nature on this day, and…." He turns back towards Sam, his eyes practically heartbreakingly earnest. "It is a time of family, is it not? And…. You are… I have no right to say this, not with everything I have put you and your brother for, but… I consider you to be family, Sam." 

 

Cas pauses, swallows. "And Dean, too, but… Differently, I think."

 

Wait… Did Cas just say what Sam thought he did about Dean? No. That was… He shakes the thought off, because he is _definitely_ reading way too much into that statement. Though from the way Dean's being acting for years around the guy... It probably wouldn't be a bad thing. He just hopes they can work out whatever remaining weirdness they've been dealing with.

 

So all he says is "Hey, Cas? Uh. You too. Seriously." and offers a smile, which Cas hesitantly returns, before returning to his usual seriousness. "Do you… uh, need any help?"

 

Cas looks around frantically, and it's clear he's a little out of his depth, here. "Will you… The vegetables require cleaning. I was about to begin that, but if you do not mind…."

 

"Sure. Let's let Dean sleep, the jerk could use it for once." 

 

"I agree. His sleep has been… He has not slept well, of late." It's all but an admission that Cas had been watching Dean sleep. Which should be creepy, but actually strangely wasn't. 

 

So Sam finds himself joining Cas in the kitchen, immersing his hands in water and grabbing a scrub-brush. They work in companionable silence for almost an hour and a half, with only a few muffled 'excuse me's and 'how thin do I slice these?' to break it.

 

It all seems so _normal_ and _real life_ , which hurts a little bit, because none of it is, except for the parts that are. When Sam drops a potato peel on the floor, his head automatically looks around for the dog, which reminds him where he is, and where he decidedly _isn't._ That hurts, too, and he finds himself wishing Amelia were here. 

 

Which is kind of a selfish thought, because one of his best friends, who, yeah, is definitely still practically a brother despite all the stuff that's happened, is making Thanksgiving dinner and reaching out, trying to make amends for all the crap. And all he can think about is how he wishes he was somewhere else.

 

Sometimes life sucks, but he's pretty sure Amelia is better off not being in a crappy cabin in Montana with his brother and an angel, on the run from demons that would be perfectly happy to eviscerate him. And besides, she has Don. That has to be enough.

 

"Sam?" Comes the quiet voice. Sam looks over, as surprisingly confident hands grate orange zest into the pot of cranberry sauce, and add salt to the water beginning to boil for green beans.

 

"Oh. Yeah?" He puts his paring knife down, and begins to dry his hands on the tea towel (and wow, when did they get tea towels?).

 

"It's possible you are not the best individual to ask this of, but I do not have very many that I can ask. Why... Why do you think I keep being saved?" is the question that follows, and Sam's heart squeezes, because here he is, mentally whining about missing the girlfriend that is too good for him anyway, and Cas is thinking stuff like _that_. "I do not deserve it."

 

Without really thinking about it, he hugs Cas, and now that he thinks about it, it's probably the first time he's actually hugged the guy. Willingly, anyway, barring the extremely strange group hug when Cas had been a little less than sane, at least. But hey, listen to the apron, right?

 

"Bullshit." Sam mumbles into Cas' shoulder, then releases him, because that was kind of an awkward hug, and he doesn't normally do that, and besides, Cas is... sort of Dean's. Not in a way that either of the two of them will admit, and not romantically or anything, but… What was the phrase Cas had used? Profound bond? He isn't sure why he remembers that, but he does. "Yeah, you've screwed up majorly, I won't deny that, it would be pretty stupid to. But can I remind you who you are talking to?"

 

"Sam Winchester, brother of Dean Winchester, and one of the best men I have ever known." Cas says it so solemnly that it's hard for Sam not to choke, but he manages.

 

"Uhhh…. Yeah. Sure. Also? The guy who jumpstarted the Apocalypse. And drank demon blood. Oh yeah, and slept with a demon. And let my brother sell his soul to bring me back from the dead. And abandoned him to Purgatory. The guy who got his girlfriend and his mom killed on his account, who ran out on his family every chance he got. Oh, oh, and let's not forget, walked around without a soul for a year and barely even noticed. _Go me_." He waves a fork in the air sarcastically, a bitter smile on his face.

 

"That is not… That is not fair to you, Sam."

 

"Hey, Pot, meet Kettle, Castiel."

 

"Dean, I think, would be better off. If I had never come back. It's selfish of me to want to stay. I should…" Cas half-turns, as if he's about to mojo out of there, and Sam has to physically grab his arm, and spin him around.

 

"No. You know what Cas? Stop. Just, stop, okay? I don't why or what keeps bringing you back, and honestly, by this point, I don't even care." Sam pauses to glance over at Dean, making absolutely sure that he is still asleep, because he's not sure how his brother would react to the next things he has to say, but it kinda needs to be said. 

 

"As much as you done really, really stupid things, and hurt him really badly sometimes, you are still honestly the best thing that has ever happened to my brother. I'm not even joking. You… You didn't see him when you died, Cas. He was really messed up about it. Practically worse than when Dad died, in a lot of ways. Because I know my brother, and he didn't say anything about it, because that's not what he does. But he drank, a _lot_ , way more than normal. And he sang along to stupid depressing shitty pop songs, and acted really, really, recklessly. And he kept your freakin' trench coat, and you know how many times he had to move that thing with all the cars we dumped and motel rooms we stayed in? Oh, oh, and can I remind you he would still be stuck in _Hell_ if it wasn't for you? Or dead, or still in Purgatory, or vessel to Michael and the entire world would have ended? So don't ever say that again, or I swear to god, I will hit you. Okay?"

 

Cas looks down, and then away. "I will not say that again."

 

"He forgives you, Cas, even if you don't. Hell, so do I, and you've done a lot worse to me than you ever did him. I forgive you for all of it." Cas opens his mouth, "Even...", and shuts it again. Sam thinks for a minute, trying to work out the meaning behind that, and forces himself to swallow. He thinks for another moment or two, and decides to set the record straight, properly. "Even for the panic room, Cas." Cas' eyes widen, and he looks rapidly down, at his feet. "Why?" "Look, growing up... We didn't have a lot. But we had each other, and Dad, and Bobby, and Pastor Jim. People like that... They weren't perfect, and some of them probably messed us up more than they helped us. But I forgive all of them, and I miss them anyway, most of the time. Even our Dad, and while you'll never get Dean to admit it, the guys was... Nevermind. Point is, some stuff you just... It's a family thing, okay? And we already established that you fall under that." Sam then breathes out a sigh, and takes a peek at the oven. Cas doesn't say anything, but his expression looks better. "Good. Okay. So… Turkey seems like it's almost done. We're uh…. We're going to have kind of a lot of food, though."

 

"I apologize. I was not entirely certain about how much some of the recipes would produce. Would it…." Cas trails off as he busies himself draining the potatoes so they can get mashed.

 

"What?" Sam prods.

 

"We have the appropriate wards and precautions such that it would most likely be as safe as… Do you think Dean would mind if I were to go to fetch the Prophet and his mother? I believe they would enjoy the meal as well. And perhaps they will distract Dean enough that he will not mind I did not make the pie myself." 

 

Sam watches as Cas looks over at the camp bed where the older Winchester is sprawled, somehow still asleep despite the noise they've been making. The expression in the angel's eyes? It's a majorly complicated one, but Sam is pretty sure it mostly boils down to _love_. And Sam is definitely not going to leak a tear, nope, nope, not him, Winchesters don't do that, and there's nothing at all to cry about.

 

So Sam smiles, nods, and says. "I think that is a great idea. And the pie looks great. Cake looks better, but we'll just pretend I didn't say that if Dean asks."

 

"Will you be able to finish the potatoes if I were to go now?" Cas is twisting at the apron strings, but makes no move to untie it.

 

"I think I'll probably manage. Maybe….No, keep the apron, it's pretty great. Bring Garth, too."

 

There's a fluttering noise, and Cas is gone. Sam adds milk to the potatoes, starts to smash them with a fork, then gives up and walks back over to the bed, which he shakes gently until Dean groans. 

 

"Dean…. It's, like, five o'clock in the evening. Uhh… Happy Thanksgiving?" Sam peels back the blanket.

 

"Sooo….. M'm tired." His brother mumbles, starting to pull the blanket back over himself, before he freezes, drops the corner of the blanket, and sits up abruptly. "Wait, what's that smell? There's _food?_ "

 

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, Dean. Cas, uh… Cas made Thanksgiving dinner. Like, a real one, not turkey freezer pie and beer."

 

Dean is staring at the tiny crappy kitchen, his mouth working. Sam watches as he stands up, pulls on a button-up shirt over his t-shirt, and stumbles over to the kitchen. "Dude. That is… That is so… Awesome. And there's pie. Seriously. Wow."

 

"Yeah, wow. Who knew your angel had secret culinary talents, huh?" Sam teases good-naturedly, a real, honest smile on his face.

 

"My angel?" Dean protests, but it's clear he doesn't really mind. "Should I mash the potatoes or something?"

 

"Uh, if you want?"

 

Cas returns at that point with Garth, Kevin, and Mrs. Tran-Linda-, and Dean doesn't even tease Cas about the apron, just hugs him, which causes Cas to freeze up for one long minute, before he actually relaxes a little and half-hugs back, which is a miracle enough, and they keep hugging long enough for Dean to whisper something in Cas' ear that sounds like a thanks. Kevin and Sam to cough awkwardly at the same time, and the two spring apart, and Dean makes a dumb joke about turkey to break the mood.

 

It's a bit of a motley dinner, all told. And yeah, maybe they all eat standing up with mismatched plates, and they forgot to make gravy, and the turkey gets carved with the blade of an angel, which he's pretty sure is sacrilegious, and they used up all the salt on the doors and windows, so there's no extra for seasoning. The turkey is a bit dry without the gravy, the mashed potatoes a little lumpy, and the green beans are little short of an unmitigated disaster. But damn, it's seriously good cranberry sauce, and the marshmallow yams are amazing. Mrs. Tran soundly criticizes their cooking skills and the state of the cabin, Garth makes weird jokes, and is wearing a really creepy crocheted turkey hat, and Kevin is mostly pretty quiet, but he brought his cello so they actually get a bit of live music, (turns out Cas fixed his finger well enough that he could still play okay) and Dean eats about half of the pie himself.

 

Then, Garth mentions thinking about what they are all thankful for, and surprisingly, the question doesn't stump any of them as much as he might have expected.

 

They've lost so much, and been through so much, but right now, right this minute? He made dinner with Cas, who is neither dead nor crazy, and his brother is alive and well and asleep in the other room, the Impala is parked outside, they all have their souls, and miracle of miracles, none of them is even drunk. Nor is about to be sacrificed to pagan gods of any description. Plus, they've got half a magic tablet, a prophet of the lord, his kick-ass mom, and a former dentist on their side, and yes, much as Sam hates to admit it, a not-totally evil vampire. Team Free-Will 2.0, so to speak. Could be worse.

 

Also, Amelia is _safe_ , which is honestly more important than her being _here_ , and she's with someone who cares about her. It's not him, and that hurts, but... He'll be okay.

 

And he definitely notices how close Dean and Cas are standing to each other, and how they both immediately turn their heads towards the other when Garth asks the question. They both look away, but it makes Sam pretty sure that even if he did go back to Amelia, he won't be leaving Dean completely on his own. That's definitely comforting.

 

Ultimately, Sam is pretty sure it manages to blow Stephanie's damn stupid 'perfect' dinner way out of the water, and morbid though the thought might be, he's pretty sure that if he died now, _this_ memory would probably replace that one in his personal Heaven. Which is weird, and it's probably extremely screwed up of him to even think this, but…

 

Yup. Best Thanksgiving ever.

 

 

 

 


End file.
